


No Problem

by Breezytealy



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Humor, Existential Crisis, F/M, Gen, WARNING: TruMai age gap addressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy
Summary: Mai and Trunks have been close friends for over a decade. Lately though, Trunks has been distant, avoidant, and downright mean at times and worse, Mai can't pin him down to shake the truth from him. Fortunately, an opportunity soon presents itself...
Relationships: Trunks Briefs/Mai
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	No Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Groundbreaking Science: The Guide to Ki-Control -- Son Gohan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951899) by [Breezytealy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breezytealy/pseuds/Breezytealy). 



> Note: this fic explicitly discusses the TruMai age gap.

\- Ten years ago - 

The quiet seclusion Mai and Trunks had escaped to was fast becoming a suffocating silence. Their picnic by the stream in the Capsule Corp grounds lay completely forgotten - the carrot cake frosting already melting and dripping onto the red gingham blanket, the opened thermos of hot chocolate’s steam petering to nothing, the salad leaves browning and wilting in the now early afternoon sun.

Mai felt as though she'd packed her basket an age ago. A regular picnic between two young friends… such a ridiculous idea for her to encourage in hindsight.

The bouquet of sunflowers Trunks had tried to present her lay limp in his lap. He plucked at the cellophane. 

She needed Trunks to say something, to be livid and pass scornful judgement, but he was struggling to find his voice. And all the while the silence grew, and every heartbeat of it Mai heard in her ears. 

“If all that’s true…” He finally said.

“It is.”

"Then how old are you?"

Mai dropped her gaze. "Fifteen-ish in body. But fifty in memory."

“Older than -” Trunks snapped away, searching out beyond the stream for answers. "Well... well that's okay isn't it? I mean, Older Trunks and Mai got together, and they were happy. See? It's - you're fifteen like me now, right? So that's okay, I…”

Mai shook her head. “I like you, very much. But as a friend. To think of you as more…” She shut her stupid youthful brain’s reaction down with a scornful shiver. “It wouldn’t be proper,” she said. “You deserve to be with someone who hasn’t been through it all before.”

“But we’re fated.” Trunks’ voice wavered.

Oh how could this have gone so wrong? He was nervous on the walk over but she'd assumed he'd made another mess of a dish he'd promised to bring. Or maybe she’d deliberately ignored the signs of his infatuation, hoping he’d figure it out for himself, or Bulma would tell him and Mai could... what? Avoid this conversation forever? Curse her cowardly naivety.

“I’m sorry," was all she could muster.

They lapsed into silence again, the stream trickling past them filling the space. Reeds rustled on the far bank, a frog or bird maybe, hiding from the world just as she wanted to. Mai screwed her eyes tight, resisting the urge to curl in a ball.

Something tickled Mai's cheek. Sunflower petals. Trunks had thrust the bouquet in her direction. “You can keep the flowers. They were for you, anyway.”

Wanting to avoid hurting him further she took the arrangement, careful not to touch his hand. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

He stood, his picnic basket repacked and in hand, and hovered for a moment. "I’ll see you later.” He headed back towards the family buildings. Mai watched him go - hunched, sullen, the sweatband on his right wrist wiping his face - and she wished she’d given him privacy. Wished Shenron hadn’t cursed her with memories of before so she could have lived in ignorance.

-

The picnic blanket Mai had carefully folded stayed by the balcony door uncollected for a week. Trunks, true to his word, came back with everyone else in tow after two. Mai, Shu and Pilaf had answered all the questions anyone cared to ask after three, and friendships were reframed and reformed from four.

Despite the awkward reveal, Mai, Shu and Pilaf's past became just another quirk to add to the group, ripe for careful teasing. Having the truth laid bare meant their camaraderie became stronger, and Mai thought the problem solved forever. 

Turns out forever couldn’t quite make it beyond ten years.

-Present Day-

Employees haphazardly lined both sides of the main building’s sweeping corridor, waiting for the weekly greeting of Capsule Corp’s new starters. Mai, almost late due to absorption in a tricky weld job and not distracting herself from other worries, slotted between her supervisor Tsuuru and colleague Renchi. Pilaf refused to accompany her, considering himself above such frivolities. No one questioned his absence.

Tsuuru’s nose wrinkled by way of greeting, the old man’s moustache positively curling. Mai sniffed her overall sleeve. Sharp ozone from the plasma welder made her cough. Lovely.

"Ah this is so torturous," said Renchi, clearly cringing in memory from her own walk. You could tell she was new - she’d bothered to change out of workshop garb for the occasion. "Why do they do this?"

"Some psychopath in HR thought this was a friendly way to honour people thirty years ago and intergenerational trauma made it stick," Tsuuru near-enough spat.

“At least we get to see Trunks,” said Renchi, already well-acquainted with Tsuuru’s cynicism. “I heard he's starting for real today."

“Mmhm.” Mai’s stomach twisted. Maybe it would have been best to finish that wing join. Or maybe she was being silly and everything was fine - Trunks would give her that conspiratorial upwards nod and things would be back to normal soon enough.

“I heard you know him?” Renchi’s question pulled Mai from her ruminations. The woman’s fluttering eyelashes were perfectly innocent, but her segue was far too abrupt to be casual.

“Yes, a little.”

Tsuuru grunted. “She’s being modest - Mai’s practically family. Bulma regularly steals her for confidential work. You'll see.”

Renchi's eyes widened. Conversations around them slowed as ears tuned in.

“It’s not quite like that," Mai said. "We first met over ten years ago. Bulma helped me, Pilaf and a friend named Shu - she sponsored us and gave us a place here. We naturally spent time with Trunks, and we’ve been friends ever since.” 

The clarification was maybe a little too honest as it did nothing to sate Renchi's curiosity.

“So what’s Trunks like? Like, really like?”

“An absolute menace," said Tsuuru.

“When he was younger, maybe,” said Mai. He hadn’t been the most angelic child. Neither had she, in retrospect, considering she was thieving when they met. “But he’s matured. He’s responsible, inventive, earnest, kind - he’ll be good for the role, I just know it.” She smiled, making sure everyone could see.

“Ah yes, ‘automotive design lead’.” Tsuuru rolled his eyes.

"He'll earn his way wherever he goes, just like he did on his internship with you." 

The old man grumbled on, but Mai knew she was right. On his year-long contrition tour of Capsule Corp before college, Trunks did a respectable job repairing many of Tsuuru’s jet prototypes he’d broken in boyhood boisterousness, even finessing some before he moved onto the next department.

A murmur shot down the lines, far more excitable than a usual week. Renchi strained on tiptoes to see.

"They're coming! Oh - he does look dashing in a suit, don't you think?"

The lines quietened and reformed. Moments later a gaggle of a dozen or so shining suits and skirts bobbed into view, huddled together for safety. And there was Trunks, making the best of the inevitable and leading the pack. The dashing suit in question was navy blue with a matching tie and white cotton shirt - an off-the-rack Mai recognised Marron demanded he wear to a small charity event “to look less of a snob”. Despite its humble origin, Trunks’ renewed tall posture lent the impression of tailoring. But it was a defensive move, less head held high through confidence, more daring anyone to go for the throat. He was the heir to the corporate throne and every climber knew it.

He looked well, at least. If uneasy.

Mai’s pride in him was tinged with her own trepidation. She hadn't spoken to him in over a week. The last time was the night of his masters thesis presentation and only as part of the wider friendship group. He’d passed the viva voce comfortably, but claimed tiredness, waving off everyone’s attempts to make him celebrate. Mai had expected his standoffish warmth to return on recovery, but after the briefest acknowledgement of her congratulations over text he’d near-enough ghosted her with one-word replies. The distance she’d sensed growing for months and dismissed as paranoia had reared again, and the past days had done nothing to quell her fears. 

Mai nonetheless smiled before her shallow bow, hoping to catch Trunks’ eye and see some semblance of his usual - if currently distracted - self.

But his ice-blue glare cut her cold. A real frown, not just one of vigilance but in anger. His lip lifted in disgust, shoulders stiffened. 

Her heart stopped.

A moment passed with their eyes locked, an eternity in Mai’s shock. Then his gaze slid on, nodding amiably to a senior engineer further down the line. The remaining new starters followed in a black and blue blur, shuffling in his chilled wake.

The jovial murmuring soon picked up again, but Mai was frozen.

Renchi’s eyes narrowed at Trunks’ retreat. “Well, that was rude.” 

“I’m sure he didn't want to single me out,” Mai said, more to herself as futile self-assurance. Renchi waved a polite placation. She hadn’t believed Mai, either.

The crowd dispersed back to their labs and offices. Mai’s feet were a little slower in returning her to the bowels of Engineering in East-2. Her cheeks were warm.

Mai’d thought it only pre-occupation that had strained their friendship recently, but with a look like that? And people noticed?

Well. Mai drew herself taller, taking longer strides, fists clenched. To Hell with him. If she had done something to upset him or get in the way of his family’s machinations, it was his job to tell her. In the meanwhile she could put him on cooldown just as easily. 

After all, their very worst falling out had lasted two weeks and that was over something truly serious. How long could Trunks realistically keep his radio silence this time?

-

_Thoc thoc thoc thoc_

Trunks’ footsteps, made loud and flat by his loafer’s soles, echoed up the secluded back stairwell. Without witnesses he was taking the steps four at a time with a suspicious spring in his step, praying anyone watching the CCTV trained on the fire doors at either end would not have timed him. 

The lack of traffic was to be expected - what with the only draws to the fourth floor being Trunks’ grandfather’s workshop and an entrance to the family rooms in one tower, and the staff library in the other. Between the two lay 'The Weight Room' as the staff called it, a restricted-access disused lab so-named due to Trunks’ muscled father’s preoccupation with it. The idea that the name 'Weight Room' could inadvertently carry more meaning than intended had never crossed the staff’s minds.

The Gravity Chamber, the real name of the room, was where Trunks’ hour-long Monday 11am was held. The meeting was a regular feature of his calendar and yet, due to his team’s deliberately endless questions, Trunks found himself running late on far too many occasions. Like today.

Trunks pressed his thumb to the print pad outside the Chamber. The LED above it flashed green and the lock sounded a happy beep. He steeled himself, then turned the heavy door’s wheel and pushed it open into the cavernous room.

"You're late," Goten said. The unspoken “again” hung between them. He was already in his orange and black gi, sitting against the curved steel wall by the gravity shielded locker, phone in hands and thoroughly bored. 

"I'm sorry," Trunks said, spinning the door wheel shut behind him. He meant it. "These meetings keep running past time to stupid hours." He'd done the parental-imposed internships, the undergraduate and the postgraduate all to prove himself and of course the team of designers he was appointed to lead did not respect him in the slightest. Six weeks in and only two of a team of eight had warmed up to him. The rest conspired to take him off task.

“What they do this time?”

Trunks rifled through his bag, pulling out two journals - one older and particularly haggard - and dropped them in Goten’s lap. “Deadlines being skipped,” he said, kicking off shoes and pulling off suit jacket and tie, tossing them in the locker and praying they wouldn’t crease in the half-hour. “They’re assuming Mom’s going to bail me out, like I don’t have a line manager. Even if Mom could she wouldn’t. Do you think I should ask for demotion?”

Goten was staring at his phone, but his gaze was fixed, giving Trunks’ point real consideration. “Nah. Lead or Junior they’d think you weren’t qualified anyway. Make gold out of their scribbles once and they’ll have to shut up.”

“I admire your confidence, but flexing that well’s easier said than done.” Trunks was down to the shorts and T-shirt hidden under his business attire. He dug the gi top and bottoms out the locker, sniffed them and regretted his decision immediately.

Goten shrugged. “If you’re having a nightmare we can skip today, train alone a few weeks until you find some routine again. I’m sure Gotenks wouldn’t mind.”

Trunks gave a hollow laugh. “Oh, sure. The grown man happy to draw permanent marker all over his forehead to spite you?” Goten’s latest unforgivable transgression was delaying Gotenks’ session ten minutes to fit a snack in.

“He gets it from your side of the family.” 

“The burning need to watch his shows broadcast live?”

“No, the mean streak. That reminds me.” Goten flipped expectantly to the latest pages of Trunks’ journal, squinting at the last page through his awful excuse for handwriting. “You’re way too quiet about your other little problem.” 

“Nothing to tell. And I’m not being mean, just practical. Any surprises for me?” 

The attempted distraction worked a treat; Goten positively beamed at the question. “Glad you asked! I think I’ve found the perfect place. I know I said that about the last one but this is _the_ one. She's a beauty.” 

Goten thrust his phone at Trunks. Taking the opportunity to kneel and wrap his legs, Trunks dutifully watched the poorly-lit photo slideshow of a dilapidated professional kitchen and the bird-infested apartment above. Goten wanted to open a cafe with only a year’s full-time experience as a peon in catering. Goten was insane. 

“It’s on a plaza just off Victory Street,” Goten said, “so super central, and it’s dirt cheap. The rest of my old prize money will cover the deposit for sure.”

“Cheap usually means it’s a death trap.”

“Don’t I know it. Realtor said it’s 'structurally unsound' and has been practically empty for eighteen years. Every new business that’s tried opening there died out in a month. They say it’s cursed.” Goten spoke with unwarranted glee.

“More likely a poor local market. You know it’s only a building and not a bear with a thorn in its paw you can win round.”

“Exactly. If she was a bear I could deal with her myself. If I do get this place I’m gonna need a hand on renovations so I need you and Mai to be friends again.”

Trunks groaned. “Please stop picking at that.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you change the subject that easy.”

“I haven’t had time to talk to her yet.” 

“The longer you leave it…”

“I know, I know.”

Trunks tied the obi tight on his waist, finally dressed. Goten took the cue and sprung from the floor, tossing his phone and the journals onto Trunks’ pile of clothes in the locker. He arched in a stretch, taking his place on Trunks’ right, and in a move that smarted Trunks’ pride, Goten's presence faded just a little. He’d casually lowered his ki to match Trunks’. Not by much, Trunks soothed himself with, and at least Goten had the good grace not to mention it, but the hectic work-life was clearly taking a toll.

Still, despite their bickering, their routine was so well established that Goten’s proximity won out in calming Trunks, and their breath fell into tandem.

One - or both, it was never clear - signalled to start. They took third position, on tiptoe with a knee high and pointed towards the other, their fists clenched and pointing away. Their ki swirled in and around them, perfected symmetry in flair. Murmurs of Gotens’ thoughts reached Trunks’ and the whispers oscillated between both men until mediated and synchronous. Their heartbeats found the other.

“HA!” 

_Ba-_ They threw their hands together overhead, distance judged so fingertips only tapped, bend leg now outstretched, ki flooding up the line created foot to finger and dragging their centres with it. _-dum_. Two hearts, one beat, and within that moment their ki and centres crashed overhead and began to spiral, weaving, growing, ki let loose and encompassing them both. Excited, the ki would light up the room bright white, but by then Trunks’ sensation numbed and dissociated to nothing, his existence trained to just the giddy spinning of ki that sped up the closer their centres found themselves, clutching together, released ki making a protective shell of its own.

And in that moment this new ki-centre recalled it should have a body. It asked its ki what shape that should be, and a compromise was made. Trunks’ - or was it Goten’s - sense of self flooded back, body invigorated and reestablished from balanced fingers to toes, and his mind smoother - or was it buzzing - in a familiar way. One heart took its next beat. His sight and other senses returned, and the final wisps of Trunks and Goten’s presence faded to nothing. 

The man clenched and unclenched his fists, taking a moment in the inbetween to revel in the uncertainty, memories from left and right, of the West’s morning and East’s late evening, of past worry and excitement to come were both true and conflicting, dizzying, tickling. Although, the way his centre hummed with the two kis he harboured dancing deep, borrowed, told him unequivocally he was the third man and custodian.

Gotenks took a breath down to his toes and stretched up, the Metamoran vest cuffs rustling at his ears. His faint reflection in the curved steel wall was distorted, narrowed, but showed his inherited mix of Goten’s broadness and Trunks’ sharper features. He was surprised, expecting to see one and both of the two men’s silhouettes, before he recognised himself. 

“Hey there, handsome,” Gotenks said, marvelling at his very own voice. But he’d be able to goof off another day. He snatched up a pen from Trunks’ bag and his own notebook from the stack Goten had made moments ago - the most gnarled of the three as he couldn’t get through it as fast - and found the latest clean page. 

_Trunks - no skipping,_ he wrote using the wall to lean on, _speak to her or I will._ Gotenks wasn’t stupid. The moment he relinquished what little time he had in the world as a favour would be the moment Trunks procrastinated and Gotenks would still have someone else’s knot in his stomach. _Goten -_ Gotenks paused, pen to lips. He’d held Trunks’ reservations over this cafe business until now, more from alarm that Goten had come up with a wilder idea than even he would concoct, but now those thoughts met with Goten’s renewed determination and memories of the cursed building that was, beneath snapped beams and dust, beautiful in her own way, and how close the dream of finally striking out by himself was. _Name a cake in my honour or else_. He finished with a flourish, and tossed book and pen back on the pile.

Sword and staff forms were on the menu today, ensuring his own muscle memory didn’t fade. Nyoibo sat snuggly in the upper curve of Gotenks’ left ear as Goten’s faux bar piercing, and Trunks’ sword - ? 

Gotenks checked by the locker. He rummaged through it, parting each hangered uniform and coat to spot the propped-up hilt. He even scanned the domed chamber, hoping to see the sword’s steel somehow camouflaged against a wall, but to no avail.

He puzzled in the middle of the room, hands on hips, swearing he’d had the damn thing, when a memory resurfaced of the sword - newly polished and leather sheath buffed - by the third-floor door in the family quarters. Distracted by work, Trunks had forgotten to swing by to pick it up.

Gotenks groaned. “You just can’t get the staff nowadays, honestly.” He said to the room, pretending the echo was a sympathetic murmur in return. Now what was he supposed to do? There was no point taking a session off in this jail-cell to forfeit one of his later actual down-times. But dual-wielding forms were the entire point of the exercise. 

His idle gaze settled on Goten’s grey flight hoodie hanging neatly in the shielded locker.

Gotenks wasn't supposed to leave the Gravity Chamber under any circumstances, but these were the extenuating kind, and the guys hadn’t addressed this very specific situation.

He shook off the bulky Metamoran vest and slipped on the hoodie, zipping it up over his bare chest. He’d be out for less than a minute and - he paused to feel the world around him - no one was around. A quick jaunt down one single-purpose flight of stairs to the living quarters and back. No biggie. He put up his hood, tightening the toggles until his stiff, distinctive black and purple hair was flattened. 

He hesitated at his blurred reflection on the wall. Way too suspicious. He needed something else.

His mother’s white lab coat, hanging one end of the locker, shone bright with an idea. One arm was half in a sleeve before he considered whether he’d actually fit, but ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ and despite the tight squeeze across back and upper arms he could click one popper shut at the waist.

His reflection told a much better story this time. At a glance he’d pass for a busy and hungover Trunks. 

Gotenks span the door wheel with a casual flick and the door opened inwards, the creak bouncing down the curved corridor. He peered out the doorway to his left, ducking back in when the corridor's CCTV camera panned in his direction. Two-sided youthful memories of weaving under these meant he was certain this was the only one, and sitting over the stairs he wasn’t interested in anyway.

He strained his ears, waiting for the camera motor’s pause and switch. A count of four, then he slipped out and pressed himself against the corridor wall. He shuffled round, the tiles dusty and achingly cold on his bare feet, the chamber door clonking shut behind him under its own weight with a jovial beep confirming the lock. When certain he was out of view he dashed for the single flight of stairs beside his grandfather’s study, crouching five steps down, waiting with baited breath.

No one came running. 

Gotenks chuckled to himself. An obvious security hole someone would have to fix, but one he could kiss the architect for. Within seconds he was down the remaining stairs and pressing his thumb to the den door’s print lock. Now all he had to do was reach in, grab the sword and get out of dodge, and he’d have saved the half hour.

The lock beeped angrily. An LED above the screen flashed red.

Weird. Gotenks wiped his thumb on his pants and tried again, pressing harder.

Another red flash and scornful beep.

He tried the other thumb, and every other finger to no avail. In desperation he even considered his toes, but he was sure Mai had programmed the lock with his right thumb. He remembered…

He remembered Trunks and Goten being added to Mai's security system. Not himself.

“Goddamn.” He thumped the door with a defeated fist. Just his luck. Even better, the Gravity Chamber was hooked up to the same system. First time in years he’d left his cell with the God’s honest intention to return and he was stranded. “Trunks, you idiot. Look what you made me do.” He tapped his forehead to the door in frustration.

The top of a yellow-handled screwdriver, sticking out from the lab coat breast pocket, glinted in the fluorescent lighting. He counted two screws on the lock’s panel cover.

He shook his head. Nope. Messing with the door would be a bad idea. He turned to leave, climbing a few steps.

But leave to where? And the sword was so close. He could do all the forms carefully enough in the den, no one was around today either, crisis averted.

He took out the screwdriver, just to look. Cross-headed, like the screws. 

Gotenks spun back to the lock, taking a determined breath. He had two undergraduate and one master’s degree in engineering to Mai’s school of hard knocks. He could bypass this, no problem.

Two screws down and the panel popped. “See? No problem.”

He swung the panel on its hinges and a mess of all-blue wiring tumbled out. The now loose red LED was still flashing, taunting. Gotenks settled cross legged on the floor to get a better look. “No problem...”

-

Four increasingly strained ‘no problem’s later and Gotenks’ nose was inches away from the mess, chasing wires with the screwdriver into the circuit board connector, muttering numbers to himself. If he could just find the cable linking the PCB to the lock -

“Freeze!”

Gotenks jumped, whacking his head on the panel corner. In wincing the screwdriver slipped and sparked against a wire he'd exposed and he yelped at the current’s sting, shaking his hand. Nuts. He’d been too focused to keep an eye out. What security even patrols up here? 

“I said ‘freeze!’”

Oh. Gotenks turned with great care to get a better look. Mellish. The Head of Site Security held a surprisingly large taser at arms length, his legs spread comically wide. Red laser dots were trained on Gotenks’ chest. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to save the family from espionage and Gotenks had inadvertently tripped the literal wire. 

Gotenks raised his hands as best he could in the tight lab coat, resigned, hoping his motormouth was trained enough to get him out of this one.

-

The lab’s wall phone rang. Mai blinked, coming to - she’d been hunched over a bad circuit board, adding up the coloured rings on resistors over and over, unable to find the mismatch. Now she’d lost her place and would have to start again.

Renchi was closest on the bench and she wheeled over on her chair to answer, before holding the phone out to Mai, puzzled. “It’s security.”

Mai barely eeked out a ‘hello’ before Mellish, a security head, cut across.

“Miss Mai? We have a situation. An intruder. I found him outside the main residence rooms trying to hack the door lock.” 

“An intruder?” 

Tsuuru and Renchi exchanged glances. Mai’s stomach dropped. At least three dragon balls were in Bulma’s offices, and plenty of tech. What were they after? What had they got already?

“He said he knows you.” Mellish spoke with an air of skepticism.

“Who?”

“Won’t say. No ID. Come to detention ay-sap to confirm.” He clicked off. Mai stared at the handset.

Tsuuru scoffed. “Told you Renchi, Mai’s involved in some crazy shit.”

-

'Detention', it turned out, was a ground floor back-office on the main building’s outer ring, right behind reception. Mellish was waiting outside the door for her and snapped to an unnecessary attention as she jogged up.

“Why does Capsule Corp have a holding cell?” ended up being Mai’s most pressing question.

“I requested it for situations like this, Miss.” He puffed his chest, imagined medal placed proudly. “Can’t be too careful about espionage these days. After you.”

He held open the door to his inner sanctum, and, after the briefest of hesitations about entering a darkened room with a near-stranger in her blind spot, she did as beckoned.

The wall to her right was dominated floor to ceiling by a window, or one-way mirror, she deduced based on the green tint, looking onto the bright, fluorescent-lit holding cell itself. In the pool of light from the mirror sat an old school desk and chair with a pocket-sized pad, pen, and a curved table-top microphone with wires trailing across the floor. The remaining light came from a wall-mounted bank of monochrome CCTV monitors watching a host of corridors and entrances around the working compound. In the low light Mai nearly walked into a knee-height coffee table, barely avoiding knocking over the haphazard stack of magazines for military supplies and empty ready-meal containers. A sleeping bag had been scrunched up on one end of a worn red leather three-seater couch. The room smelt sour from unhealthy dedication.

The cell itself was stark white under the glass’ green tint but the decor was tattered in places, as though the sealed tomb had been entropying for centuries until needed. A thin-mattressed, metal-framed bed had been squeezed into a recess on the far wall. The intruder was hunched on the bed, grey jacket hood pulled up and forward to hide his face. He was picking at the peeling metallic white paint, revealing the steel wall beneath.

“I found him,” Mellish said, “rooting inside the print lock by the fourth-to-third floor den entrance. He had these.” The guard handed Mai a short cross-head screwdriver and a lightly grease-stained lab coat with Bulma’s name stitched into the breast pocket. “He said he was a close friend of the family, but in my three years here I’ve never met him. When I said no family were on site he asked for you.” 

“Can he hear us?”

“No, Miss.”

She’d asked as the man had frozen, as though listening. Or sensing... 

Mai approached the one-way mirror with caution.

The man’s hoodie was nondescript for sure, but the white breezy pants and matching satin teal leg wraps and peeking waist tie were enough to identify him in isolation, let alone in composite. Gotenks. The cryptid who only let his presence known through the occasional texts to instigate mischief was here in the flesh for the first time in years.

For a moment she felt relief that no true intruder had ruined the day, then a rising anger found her. The first time Trunks had wanted to see her in two months and he wasn’t even himself?

“Have you phoned the police?”

“No on that front, too. Dr Bulma strictly says to contact the family first in all incidents. You and Pilaf would naturally be my next port of call, and with Pilaf in East City assisting Dr Bulma, the man said you could verify he was a friend.”

Mellish was loyal and unquestioning to a terrible, twisted fault. No wonder Bulma indulged him playing detective with a lavish set-up like this.

“He’s telling the truth,” Mai said, passing the stolen goods back. “He should have access to the family rooms. I forgot to add him.”

Mellish double-took. “Then I should let him go?”

This was a serious situation. Of course he should go free. If Gotenks unfused and Mellish saw… he seemed hugely ignorant of the world playing out around him, but even he’d find that suspicious. Mai knew exactly what she should do - get Gotenks out before Mellish could ask too many questions and ask her own later. Goten might cave, at least.

She should let him go.

But… that scowl, the repeated humiliation… Trunks had blown by more than enough chances to explain himself and if he was content to play games so was she. Mai could make him sweat.

“No.” She said eventually. “Leave him in there. I’d like to... interrogate... him first.”

“Smashing!” said Mellish. “I’ve done a number of courses on the psychology of -”

Mai raised her hand. “Thank you. But this is a personal matter. Allowed or not he was trying to break into my system. I need to discuss what he uncovered. It’s on a need-to-know basis, as I’m sure you can appreciate. You know, from security nerd to security nerd.”

The pitiful flattery was enough to ease his disappointment. “Say no more, Miss Mai, say no more. I’ll guard his exit. He... knows a lot about the family, you say?”

“As much as I do, at least.”

“Hmm. Come tap me when you’ve wrung him dry.” Mellish grabbed a laminated folder from under the magazines and stuck it under his arm with the lab coat. He left with a doff of an invisible cap, closing the door with the shortest of glances to the CCTV screens. 

Mai waited a few moments, before engaging the lock and unplugging the recording devices. The screens whistled down. The man was loyal, but evidently curious. She’d ask Pilaf to delete all the files he could find later.

Now, for Gotenks. She took a steadying breath, turned to the mirror and jumped. Gotenks was leaning on the wall beside the cell door, hood now down, arms folded. He was staring straight at her - no not quite, he wasn’t meeting her eyes - he had to be following her ki instead. She approached the tiny desk and mirror, and he broke into a grin.

“Hey hey, long time no see, eh?” Gotenks’ voice projected through the speakers into the observation room, tinny and distant. He began to stretch, twisting at the waist. “My bad for busting your tech, but I needed a sword. Can we add me to the system? Now or later’s all good, we can match diaries."

Mai took a seat on the desk’s flimsy school chair. She picked up Mellish’s notepad, dipping it into the light pouring from the cell, and squinted.

_Suspect refuses to give his name, claims to be a friend of the family. Suspect refuses to answer questions. Suspect insists my taser is an unapproved make. Suspect knows the alert procedure and that the family aren't in the building. Suspect asks to call Mr Pilaf, also knows he’s not on site, with no answer. Suspect asks to call Miss Mai._

Mai huffed. He actually asked for Pilaf before her? Pilaf, who may have let Gotenks rot for his own amusement? What in high heaven was going on?

Gotenks jabbed his head in the direction of the door. “Good job shaking him off and all, but, ah, he’s not even trying to let me out.”

There was something in the way Gotenks’ stood. The loose fluidity of Goten’s gesturing was present, but even mid-stretch he held himself tall, almost with an arrogance... Mai's resolve solidified. 

She clicked the microphone on. A red LED at the base glowed, and she heard a faint crackle through the glass. Gotenks glanced to the corner of the room.

“How much time do you have left?” she said.

Gotenks’ face contorted in thought, pausing mid-arm stretch. “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

"Good.” She hesitated. The silence dragged, and the little light burned.

“Uh, Mai?” The little frown that had begun to form on Gotenks’ brow was eerily familiar, and warped in her mind to that scowl. “Door?”

The words burst from her. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

-

Gotenks froze in a crouch, mid thigh stretch. Warning goosebumps prickled at the nape of his neck. “Excuse me?”

"Answer the question."

“Come on Mai, I don’t have much time - ”

“You have twenty minutes. That’s plenty. I’ll let you out when you answer.”

She was serious. Her firm tone and stable outline in ki said as much. He’d been keeping it light to try to avoid this. He stood slowly, carefully.

“You know I can bust out of here, right? I’m being considerate of the maintenance budget."

"But you won’t, or you would have already."

Gotenks pursed his lips.

“Here’s how I see this,” Mai said. “In twenty minutes, the President-in-waiting of Capsule Corporation will be stuck in jail along with his regular accomplice. Even if by some miracle questions aren’t raised when they leave through the only exit, the intruder himself will be missing and will become enemy number one to a busybody with too much time on his hands. Or, you can simply answer my questions. What’s it going to be?"

Gotenks could only stare slack-jawed at his reflection. She had him by the balls, the witch. He approached the mirror, thinking as fast as he could. She was sitting in the same place Mellish had been, but this interlocutor was far more dangerous for his freedom in some ways.

"I haven't been avoiding you, no more than I usually do."

"You know what I mean." Came the clipped voice across the tannoy.

That stung. "Then say what you mean."

"Why has Trunks been avoiding me?"

Better, but still no apology. Gotenks shrugged. "Can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?"

"Don't. This isn’t fair. Ask Trunks when we're out of this mess."

"Which is a perfectly sensible idea except he’s slipperier than a jellied Northern Sea Eel. So a hostage situation will have to do.”

Urgh, she was infuriating. Why couldn’t she take a hint? Why couldn’t Trunks have dealt with this sooner? They were both dumb as bricks. At least every moment of this was Trunks’ fault.

“I’d love to help you, really I would. But fusion-fusee confidentiality forbids me from saying squat.”

“You’re willing to burn everything to the ground to keep this nonsense going?”

“Me burn everything? Seems like it’s you who’s willing to expose us. All you have to do is ask Detective Tryhard to open the door. This is blackmail, y’know, illegal blackmail.”

“Torture is also illegal under the Central City Convention of Age 734 but that hasn’t stopped Trunks.”

Gotenks snorted, reeling away from the glass to pace like a trapped tiger. He couldn’t even be mad at Mai for that one. Trunks had been a complete ass, and that now made Gotenks actively complicit. He occasionally paused to swallow words, huff and wag a reprimanding finger in Mai’s direction, but he couldn’t muster a snappier comeback. Because she was right.

“I think we’d both greatly benefit from getting things off our chests.” she said with cloying enthusiasm. “Whatever’s going on it’s clearly bugging you too.”

“Well, you’re wrong. My job is to punch things, not to feel things. I don’t have feelings.” 

But morality’s push and pull was playing havoc in his head, and Gotenks resisted the urge to tug the toggles on his hoodie and disappear.

The speaker crackled again. “I’m pretty sure Goten wants rid of this, too.”

And she’d played the Goten Gambit. Of course he was wigging out with his friends not talking, no great insight there. Still, Gotenks halted, staring at the ceiling. Talking would end the situation once and for all, and Gotenks did threaten to take this into his own hands, albeit picturing himself in a less compromised position.

He knitted his fingers over the back of his neck. “Okay, okay.” She had the right to know after this treatment even if the proxy confession was ultimately futile. 

Mai’s ki fluttered in triumph, a flare of green and metal, and Gotenks’ stomach flipped feeling her, a muscle memory from Trunks.

“But you have to defend my honour,” he said. “I don’t want my last moments ever permitted to be wingmanning for that idiot.”

“ - ‘Wingmanning’?”

“No, no no, promise first.”

There was a pause, a long sigh. “I wholeheartedly swear to defend your honour against the tyrannical rule of Trunks and Goten.” she sang.

“Good.” He took a breath, and prayed. “Trunks likes you.”

The tinny speaker clicked and the static died.

-

Mai had instinctively smashed the off button in such a panic the ballpoint pen rolled off the table and clattered to the floor. She’d steeled herself for an argument over something petty, some work-related project she’d suggested and the company weren’t going to roll with, or him having to keep public distance for image conscious reasons - all things that she could rail on Trunks via Gotenks for. Not that.

Gotenks idly paced with hands on the back on his neck, tapping his elbows together, half watching her from the corner of his eye through the mirror. 

She collected herself and lightly clicked the microphone on. “Pardon?” She kept the surprise from her voice as best she could, but it still came out with a squeak.

“As in he likes-you-likes-you,” Gotenks said. “In an intimate way. In a hots-for-you way. In a carnal-”

“I understood your meaning well enough, thank you.” Her face flushed. “How? Are you sure?”

The man rolled his eyes. “I think I’d know. It’s all pretty gross, really. Goten’s MO I can deal with but Trunks’? So sappy, urgh.” He mimed a gag. “You know, I’m glad you’re behind the mirror so I don’t have to properly look at you. Just reading your ki’s making me nervous.” He halted his pacing monologue, folding his arms. “Or, it would be if I had feelings.”

Mai sat back, folding hers too in bewilderment. They’d been over this, years ago. She’d disavowed Trunks of the notion that they’d ever be together, and he came round soon enough, even dating someone from his high school for a while. He saw people on and off at college. She knew because he'd told her without hesitation. They were friends, good friends. How on Earth...?

“But why me? He could have anyone on the planet.”

Gotenks brayed. “He could _get a date_ with anyone on the planet, sure, but how many could hold their weight in an argument on Capsule collapse-matrices? Or have his back with trip-traps and a headshot? I mean -” Gotenks gestured with wide arms to himself and the room “- who other than you would have the nerve to throw a juggernaut in jail, with the brains to pin him down? You're kind without fawning, and you can take him down a peg when he needs it, all without some shady, monied agenda."

“The wisdom of age." Mai said to herself with a sad smile.

"Age, innate, it doesn't matter. My point is you're one of the few people he feels he could be himself around and still be valued. And you’re the person he…” Gotenks swallowed, looking away. “The person he likes to make smile the most.”

As sweet as the sentiments were, there was nothing particularly remarkable about that in Mai’s eyes. She felt the same in return. “Those are reasons to say someone is a good friend, nothing more.”

“Did ya miss my use of the word ‘carnal’?” He sat back heavily on the bed, head in hands as though rubbing sandpaper across his eyeballs. “You’re pretty, okay? Stop making me think about it or I’ll hurl.”

Mai drummed her fingers against her upper arm, her initial shock long faded. Gotenks was clearly vexed, but his story didn’t add up. “If this is true and not some twisted, pitiful excuse to get me to let you out -” Gotenks tried to protest but she rolled over him "- explain to me his first day at work. I tried to catch his eye, and he scowled at me. That did the opposite of make me smile." 

"You don’t ask much, do you? Fine.” Gotenks sagged forward, elbows on thighs, his head in a tired loll. A ghost of Trunks’ pinched frown - this time in concentration - returned with Gotenks’ recollection. “Trunks was nervous. People were staring like they were waiting for him to fall flat on his face. But there you were, and you smiled. After all his ducking and diving you were still willing to be happy for him. He was mad at himself and made a dumb face." 

Mai scoffed. "That is ridiculous."

"I agree. And so does he. He made his own bed by being an avoidant weirdo and then bellyached that he'd made it worse."

It was ridiculous. But if she was being unkind, sulking was within Trunks’ remit.

"So, his grumpiness at the quarterly meeting..."

"Avoidance."

“And the testing grounds?”

“Avoidance...”

“His birthday.”

“He hid behind Marron the entire evening because he’s a big fat coward.”

"The elevator."

Gotenks looked up, frowning. "...Remind me."

That was another level of embarrassment. They were crammed in together, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by other people. She'd even said hello. "Last week. He spotted me then ran out on the next floor, even though we were going to the same meeting?"

"Oh!” Gotenks laughed, a bark more fitting of Goten, softening the sharper facial lines he’d inherited from Trunks. “That was legit. He needed the bathroom and you have not seen how bad West-One’s fifth floor Men’s gets.” Mai paled, and Gotenks stumbled. “Ah, I guess that’s oversharing, my bad, I’m not used to company - but the grunt at you was avoidance, yeah. Ten percent constipation maybe? I’m joking, I’m joking."

His attempt to ease the tension did not find Mai, however. “I’d greeted him,” she said, “thinking there was no way he could ignore me in that space. That I’d get some acknowledgement. Only for him to weasel out of the situation again.” The memory of the back of his head and the elevator doors closing on her made the heat rise in her chest and cheeks. “I was humiliated!”

Gotenks’ hands shot in the air. “Woah, don’t kill the messenger! I’m with you. Look. I’m not saying you should forgive him. Just, that’s the maze his few remaining marbles were clonking around these past few months, okay? Me and Goten were so relieved when he finally owned up to his feelings, but then he flipped his shit when he realised he’d have to talk to you and risk rejection."

"If space is what Trunks needs, that’s fine. God knows I'll need some to cool down. Ultimately I'd like to be friends again, that’s all."

But Gotenks' animated agreement faded to a wry smile. He flopped back onto the bed to stare at the recess’ ceiling, hands on his stomach. "No you don't. That's the problem, and what set off his spiral. You like him back."

"Now you're being bold -" Gotenks pulled the toggles on his hood, leaving only the tip of his nose visible “- we’re just friends. We have been forever.”

“Uh huh.”

“Is it so wrong to want a friend who challenges you? Someone who appreciates your skills and can engage with you on your level?” 

“Nope.”

“And has he looked in a mirror lately? He hardly ever moves beyond a concerned grump so of course I notice when he smiles. Friends care about each other like that.”

“Yup.”

“And just because I’m patient with him doesn’t mean I’m infatuated with him. Honestly, what nonsense."

Gotenks slowly rolled his head, the hood loosening enough that Mai could make out one cynical eye. “You mean to say you’ve never found Trunks... alluring?”

“That would be inappropriate.”

“That’s not the question I asked.” 

Mai swallowed.

“I can tell you’re struggling so let me help you. You like Goten. You’ve confided in him plenty of times, too. But never once have you been flustered to see him shirtless during training. Yet you won’t even look in Trunks’ zipcode.”

“For practical reasons. If I politely averted my gaze whenever Goten shamelessly found need to strip I’d never see him.”

“Oh so it’s _manners_ , okay.” Gotenks rocked to standing, pulled back his hood and sauntered across the room to the mirror. He towered over Mai best he could with a metre’s distance between them, forearm to the glass with an ominous smirk.

“Then you can help me," he said. "I happen to know my features are less a blend of Trunks and Goten and more chimeric.” Gotenks pulled the hoodie zip down halfway and folded the fabric behind a shoulder, exposing a collar bone and bare upper chest. “Can you tell me whose torso I have?”

“Stop it.”

“See, I’m pretty sure the pecs and lats are Goten’s, but -” He completely undid the zip and flicked back the hoodie, fingertips lightly tracing over muscle. “- the lay of the abs, definitely Trunks’ right? What you think?”

Mai scraped back her chair and retreated to the far end of the office, holding her hands over her eyes. He was right, he had Trunks’ slimmer build at the waist. And the fact she readily knew that horrified her. This was wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Touched a nerve, did I?” he said. “I’ll put the hoodie back on and leave you alone if you let me go.”

“Not happening.” She’d shouted to reach the microphone. Not now, not when she was on the backfoot.

“Then, can you tell me about the external obliques?” Mai parted her fingers. His thumb was hooked into his teal sash, tugging it down on his right side. 

With heated alarm Mai marched back to the desk and danger to speak as flatly as she could into the microphone. “If you go any lower, our anonymity be damned I will turn back on the CCTV.”

Gotenks paused, smirk wider, the sash now at his hip and exposing Trunks’ navel. Mai screwed her eyes shut, but the after-image flashed behind her eyelids. 

“No sweat off my back,” he said, “not me dealing with the fall out. Admit you routinely harbour the same conflicted thoughts you’re having now. Goten picked up your tension first and you know what? The contrast in their memories of your reactions is obvious.”

“Them using ki sense is prying.”

“No changing the subject. I can - and will - remove my pants.”

“Fine! He’s attractive. I’m attracted to him.”

Mai heard Gotenks’ padding footsteps and the creaking of springs. She dared a peep to see him, hoodie zipped and hood back up, lounging back on the bed and studying his hands, as though the past moments had been a fever dream.

“You’re unbelievably cruel.” she said, though begrudgingly noted the ploy’s effectiveness.

“You surprised me here, I’ll give you that,” Gotenks said to his nails, “but I spend an unhealthy amount of my downtime pranking the guys. Start shit with me and expect some thrown back.”

Mai re-took her seat. Their truce would hold, but in truth Mai had come off worse. She was still spinning. Of course she liked Trunks. But it was an inconvenient hormonal urging of this youthful body, nothing more. She buried her face in the crook of her elbow. “I feel like such an old-man pervert.”

"Oh boo-hoo, you’re not a hundred and two, Grannypants, whatever you like to claim."

Mai sat up, blinking in shock. She was expecting disgust. "I’m sixty."

"Not that, either. You're twenty-five. It’s only right you have the hots for someone that age. You wouldn't chase Mellish, right?"

"No, he's too…" Old. He was not attractive to Mai for many reasons, but at the crux of it he looked as though he was from a foreign generation. When she’d been turned into a child, adults her supposed age became unfathomable creatures of subtle emotion, and children like Trunks her infinitely more brash and relatable peers. "It's this body's hormones messing with my brain, nothing else."

"Your body and your brain. Which are part of you, last time I checked."

Gotenks was far too blase. Trunks hadn’t understood then, all those years ago. “I have near sixty years of memories. I grew up in Central City highrises, not West. I went to school when you could still drop out at sixteen. My first job was in arms trafficking, for goodness’ sake. Those experiences are what made me me and what’s important. Not this.” 

"Do they mean much anymore, really? You recounted facts. What did they feel like?"

He was referring to her faded memories. Mature and complex one’s she couldn’t grapple with as a redeveloping child had languished unvisited. Now she was confusing the two time periods as she regrew through them, her first memories of Pilaf and Shu too muddled to be accurate. "No one remembers specifics." Mai said, but her attempted deflection went unnoticed. 

"I remember the day Goten got nimbus from Gohan and how the wind felt through his hair on that solo flight. I remember the first of many times Trunks choked on a chicken bone and knew he was going to die. If you're going by years lived and remembered, which I apparently do better than you, I'm forty-nine.”

“Don’t be absurd.” 

“Then how old am I? If you're talking about years around, I'm seventeen, and only time I've experienced? I'm less than a year old. So as far as I care, my brain wiring says I'm twenty-four. And you’re twenty-five, like Trunks." He nodded, as though the discussion was over.

"With that logic, Eighteen’s not much older than our- your age, too."

"Marron’s Mom’s biologically engineered and only grew her brain once. She didn’t get emotionally stunted like you did. Or maybe she's really into older men, I don't know, ask her. I'm trying to help you here. Doesn’t your second childhood count for you? It must be a solid half, surely."

“I appreciate your efforts,” Mai said, “but I accepted long ago that I will always be out of step with the world. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Really?” Gotenks sat bolt upright, slapping his cheeks in feigned shock. "Oh no, two lifespan's worth of memories rattling around and still can’t manage the feelings - however could we relate? Face it, you’re not special.” 

Mai blushed at the rebuke. _It’s still different_ , she grumbled to herself. Trunks and Goten would never experience that fuzzy distance and loss from memories made long ago, although she’d concede the jumbled mind problem had parallels.

“It's funny,” Gotenks said, “because I distinctly remember you telling Trunks he deserved to be with someone who hasn't been through it all before. But what - or who - did you do in that first life, exactly?”

She tutted. "There's more to life than relationships.”

“True, but you were a half-starved criminal with few friends, no family and no home, so no gold there, either.”

Mai couldn’t help but laugh from his sheer audacity. "I understand you don't have the luxury of time, but you could at least soften the blows."

“You agree with me, then?” 

“I...” Mai’s back straightened. She held the curve of the microphone closer to her face ready to argue, but words failed her. In a manner of speaking, she had agreed.

“Thing is,” Gotenks was staring straight at - no - through her, “I don't get why you're so intent on making yourself miserable. You have a second chance to do what you want. Stop getting in the way of your own happiness. Look at Shu, he found someone. So can you.”

Shu had. He’d left to run a garage with a pleasant doberman biker-lady in the north quarter of the city. But that was Shu, a man content to be borne aloft by the winds of fate; sometimes in a literal sense - the woman had fireman-carried him from an ice cream parlour to his new life without so much as letting him serve notice, much to Pilaf's disdain. Nevertheless, Shu was blissfully happy and settled. Mai’d never asked him if his partner knew the truth. She’d never asked her future self if her Trunks knew, either. She couldn’t. She was too frightened.

The idea of giving in to the desire she'd been repressing, of letting go and accepting whatever judgement befell her, maybe even enjoying herself, made her heart beat faster. Through excitement? Fear? or both?

"Was that Trunks or Goten talking?" Mai asked.

Gotenks glowered. "It's me talking."

"I mean, does Trunks agree with you?"

He gave a hollow laugh, laying back down to recommence his picking of the wall paint, his other forearm behind his head. As he mumbled to the wall the cell microphones struggled and Mai had to hold her breath to hear through the speaker static. "I sure he would, but it doesn't matter anyway. Even if you got over yourself, he knows it couldn't work out between you." The little weed of what Mai could now identify as hope growing in her chest cowered at Gotenks’ boot-like flippancy. "Because I exist," he said, resignation in his faint voice.

-

And that was the sorry truth of that matter, Gotenks thought. Despite Goten's nonchalance, Trunks' neuroses were right. Who in their right mind would want Gotenks as a complication to their relationship? Either they’d tolerate his existence as a curiosity - a charade of a person to be humoured, or recognise him and be repulsed. Mai’s slip ups put her in the first category for now. The idea of her finding her way to that second was too painful to consider. Despite the farcical circumstances, today was by far the longest and most substantial conversation they’d ever had. Even so it was inadequate. How do you agree to a quasi-relationship from a twenty minute spat?

"Oh don't be ridiculous,” came Mai’s voice, artificially shrill over the tannoy system. “Do you really think I don't know you share memories? Why do you think I'm happy to confide in Goten, too? They’re two sides of the same coin, with or without you."

"I’m not talking about what Goten might get, he’s secondary.” Gotenks rocked upright, trying to look at Mai to hammer home what he was saying, her wispy outline made of ki held tight, defensive and curious. He tried to at least, but his gaze was drawn yet again to his reflection like a budgerigar, lost in the novelty more than usual. He eventually recognised the alien expression as sadness. How’d he get stuck with a more transparent face than both of them? He sat up straight to shake it.

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I do have feelings."

"No, really?"

"Keep the sarcasm and that secret to yourself, Grannypants. But yeah." He breathed out, big and slow. This was going to be uncomfortable.

“My memories are formed of Goten and Trunks’," he said. "Pretty much fusion 101, right? So when they fuse, I don’t ‘wake up’. I am them. They are me. The only way I know I’m Gotenks is by my strength, or testing for both their memories, or my reflection, or -” he held his hand to his centre, the cool and sparking dual elements still dancing, though tiring. He had mere minutes “- if I feel both their kis hidden in my own centre. 

“And that’s it. If fusion ends and the guys don’t realise, they’ll believe they are me, or even each other until they learn otherwise. It takes seconds, but it’s enough to show we’re no different. I’m not just a fusion, but a person. A person without a soul, but a person with feelings all the same.”

Mai didn’t reply. The microphone was still switched on - Gotenks could hear her slow breath, her ki flow deliberate in thought. He swallowed, waiting for a roiling of disgust to rise, but it didn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” she eventually said. "I'll admit, I've struggled to see you as your own person, mostly as I saw you as a representation of their relationship. I’m a little jealous of their closeness, in fact."

"And you still weren’t aware you liked Trunks. I was right, you both really are dumb as bricks." He laughed to himself, and she chided him for the insulting joke. “It’s not a closeness you want. I’m more trouble than I’m worth some days.”

“Then why do they fuse so often?” Gotenks double-took, but she'd asked with only benign curiosity, and he had invited the question in his ennui.

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “at first, for strength - they learnt I was more functional with experience. Only, being around so much I realised I was my own person because I goofed off, like anyone would if they had to do someone else’s homework all the time. So I get downtime too, now - on my own terms.”

“Oh!” Mai said brightly. “Now you make more sense, like why you religiously watch ‘ _Dark Lot Creek_ ’.”

“Exactly, I -” Hold on. How would Mai know that terrible secret? Unless “- you’ve read my journal?”

The microphone knocked as Mai scrambled, her ki rising in panic at her slip. “A complete accident! I thought they were Trunks’ old lab notes until I read you address him in some technique brainstorming. Your handwriting is spikier than his...”

Gotenks narrowed his eyes. “What technique?”

“At least I think that’s what it was. Something about clipping ki shields and horses of all things? I don’t remember much to be honest, I returned the book to his bag pretty quickly.”

“Good.” He relaxed. His Mounted Samurai was safe in his back pocket, then. “I don’t even enjoy the show much, turns out. The twists are too signposted, but I’ll be bored of it first-hand, thanks. Small moments like that are all I’ve got. Y’know, right now I’m the most powerful mortal in the Universe and I don’t even have my own mug?” A dark laugh escaped him. “It’s why I mess with the guys, because it means I’ve left a mark.”

He expected Mai to laugh along. She didn’t, instead softening. “You leave a mark generating affection on more people than you realise. Surely if you spent some time with us and family it would help.”

He’d thought about it, but pining was unrealistic. “I can’t get close to Pan and Bra. Not yet. Not until they’re old enough to understand how life-altering someone like me is. And the way my Dads treat Gogeta...” He curled his sleeves over his fingers to stave off a shiver. He’d never met his fathers’ fusion, but knew he thought himself a tool and nothing more. Vegeta made it clear he couldn't abide what Gotenks stood for, using Gotenks as an answering machine for Trunks if an interaction was unavoidable. “Even if I hung out with only you, Mar and Uub, I can’t ask that of Trunks and Goten. They barely get a break as it is.”

He stared at his feet, dirtied from the corridors and the cell. Dirt he’d accrued, and would soon lose.

“If you truly are a person then you’re not meant to be alone so often.” Mai concern was palpable even over the tannoy. Maybe he’d been too honest, he was only trying to explain. 

"It’s okay, really.” He smiled for her, for his reflection. “I know I'll never have a family, my own space and stuff - things you, Mai, should be grabbing with both hands. I might know what they feel like in future, but they won’t be my feelings or choices. My choices revolve around planning to kill with the least collateral and I’ve made my peace with that.

“Thing is, whoever they form a relationship with would have to live with all the chaos we bring plus knowing I was there in bursts, holding the guys’ memories and feelings, basically watching their most private thoughts. And who’d want that? Goten would only get disjointed scraps of whatever comes to my mind, but I have the whole story to explore.”

"Are you admitting you'd be a snoop?"

Gotenks paled. "Not intentionally! But what if? What if I catch feelings? Trunks doesn't want that complication. I don't want it. And what if that person finally understands me and then hates me and I’ve ruined everything?"

Gotenks was disgusted at how pathetic he sounded, a forgotten snot-nosed child on a playground.

And Mai was getting exasperated. "You’ll be fine, the guys will be fine. Whoever it is won’t dislike you. If anything, this sincerity is making you infinitely more likeable - though you could be a little less sharp in your teasing." 

"You're one to talk. You can't tell anyone this. I don't need people feeling sorry for me or guilting the guys. I'm only talking about it because you need to understand that you're great, and you should be happy, and Trunks likes you back, but he won't work out with you or anyone else.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry."

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!" 

The mic clicked off. He heard the faint scraping of the chair through the mirror, and watched Mai’s ki bob to the door, subtly flared but with his attention trained to her it was blinding. Gotenks bolted to his feet ready to give chase but unable to fathom how, until he noticed she wasn’t retreating. She was marching along the corridor.

Mai burst through the steel door, Mellish’s frantic questioning cut short by the hunk of metal slamming behind her. Her fierceness threw Gotenks and he looked away.

"Gotenks. Look at me."

He did, meeting her gaze, startled into it by her using his name for the first time today. Those usually soft brown eyes, the ones Trunks had been avoiding but imagining for months, burned back at him in frustration? Anger? He couldn't get a read, there were too many layers.

"How,” she said, “do you expect to live vicariously through them if you won’t let them live in the first place?”

“I’m not stopping them. I’m, we’re being practical.”

“You just forbade anyone from having a relationship with Trunks lest you get wistful.”

“Which would be bad.”

“Who says? Are you somehow unable to control your impulses around people you or your other halves find pretty?”

“Of course I can. Contrary to popular opinion I’m not an id...”

“Well then,” she folded her arms, tilting her chin up, “what’s your problem?”

“But Goten -"

“- Is working on sampling every delight under the Sun and yet I believe is not interested in me. How much do his escapades bother you and Trunks?”

Gotenks’ hands went to his hips. “Well, quite a lot actually!” But his a-ha moment was short-lived as the truth gnawed. “...At first, but now it’s noise that bubbles up for the both of us.”

"Exactly. Noise. Which, if Trunks and I were to date, would I’m sure be the case for you and Goten after the initial shock. I’ve seen Goten skinny-dipping more than I care to, I’d be able to repay the trauma.”

“It’s not just visual memory.”

“I am fully cognisant of that fact. Don’t mistake my reservations and wish for enduring sensibility for prudishness.” She glared at him, as though daring him to question her. He couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to. Did she truly not care? She broke into a triumphant smile. “Now who's standing in whose way, hm? Clearly, I am the reason Trunks and I could never be together."

Gotenks gritted his teeth. Not that again. “No, I’m the real issue here. You’re not grasping how intrusive fusion is. I told you, get over yourself and learn to live in the second chance you got.”

“And _I’m_ telling _you_ , I do understand. It would mean someone - namely me - being vulnerable, and since particularly you and Trunks can't handle the idea of flashing an ankle of emotion until literally cornered, you assume no one else can. But I'd be willing to try, so others will, too. Trunks will find someone and I assure you, you won't be a problem if _you_ got over _yourself_."

“Fine. We'll have to agree to disagree on who’s cockblocking who, then.”

“Fine!”

“Okay!”

“Good!”

“That’s settled.”

“Completely.”

"But in that case,” Gotenks said, frustration ebbing as he did the sums, arms falling limp by his sides, “what’s stopping you guys?"

-

Mai took a moment to follow Gotenks’ logic, his sudden punchdrunk expression convincing her to listen. If both were denying the other was the problem... then was there even a problem to solve? She felt her own body sag as the worry fled. The heat between them dispersed.

“So,” she said, “all that remains is if Trunks and I want to try?” There was nothing in the way. Her heart picked up again, fast pace blurring to an ache. She felt woozy.

“Seems that way.” Gotenks hummed to himself. “Goten’s intuition wins yet again. Guy’s a savant...”

“All those years ago, I swore Shenron’s interpretation of the wish was a monkey’s paw and I hated him. Why be cruel and make us remember? But maybe he was being kind to us after all, letting us see the difference...”

“Mai, I-”

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear it from Trunks mouth.”

“What?”

“You’ve done enough already. I want a proper confession -”

“No, Mai. I don’t care about that. And you can confess first you lazy ass, I don’t see why Trunks has to again. Only, I have less than three minutes left and the door you slammed shut doesn't open from the inside."

"Oh."

-

A polite knock and call from Mai was thankfully enough for Mellish to open the door. Gotenks attempted to sneak past whilst Mai launched into profuse thanks for Mellish’s work, crediting him and his unique room for being instrumental in upgrading her security system. The laudation didn’t seem to cheer Mellish, however. He shoved Bulma’s coat and screwdriver into Mai’s arms as though they were contaminated, his knuckles white on the laminated folder he’d taken with him from his office. Gotenks didn’t get far before Mellish was adamant they shook hands, and Mellish pressed that he didn’t want to do any harm, sir, and he’d tell the rest of the family the incident was a false alarm of course, and maybe he, sir, could also stay quiet about the illegal taser.

Promises assured, Gotenks and Mai made quick-time around the main building’s ring to the deserted back stairwell. They reached the cameraless relative safety of the cold, echoey space within a minute and with Gotenks in one piece. Mai blew through her cheeks in relief.

“Well,” Gotenks said, closing the fire door behind them and dusting his hands, “I got zero training done. So ,this has been an absolute waste of my very limited time on God’s Green Earth and I hope you feel bad about that.” His play at scathing wasn’t that convincing; his warm tone shone through.

Mai smiled. “I don’t think they’ll refuse to fuse again.”

“Nah.” He said, unzipping the hoodie and taking only his left arm out, draping the sleeve over his shoulder and chest. “Worst I’ll get put in time-out for a month, but they need me. More than I need them, even.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Gotenks sniffed. “Yeah, pretty sure it’s that way round. Do me a favour -”

“I’ll defend you, I promised.”

“No, I mean - thank you, but -” he took a measured step to his right, presenting his left hand “- hold this for me.”

“Why?”

“Hurry!”

With some hesitance she lightly touched his palm, only for him to interlock their fingers and wink with a smirk. “Try not to get too excited.” 

Before she could ask again, a bright flash made her wince. His fingers and palm fuzzed and loosened their grip with lost coherence for a moment, before returning with full force.

Trunks stumbled to his left, shoved by physics from the space he was occupying before, and tilted off balance by being attached to Mai’s hand.

His face mirrored Gotenks’ softness for half a breath - before he remembered he was the fusee again and his face contorted to horror. He paled and squeezed Mai’s hand, before yelping and dropping it as though burnt, trying in vain to cover his now bare chest with folded arms. 

Mai did her best to give him privacy by staring through the winding stairwell above, but she had to screw up her face to avoid laughter. She only noticed Goten from the corner of her eye when he moved, sheepishly slipping his left arm into the hoodie and slinking backwards towards the stairs.

“Goten.” Trunks hissed.

“I'm out.” He said.

“Goten, at least leave me with the hoodie.”

“No way, man, it's mine.”

“Goten!”

But he was pounding up the stairwell and out of view in moments, light footsteps echoing as he called his goodbyes.

Mai handed over the lab coat, much to Trunks’ gratitude. The poppers only met once at his waist and the fabric was taut across his shoulders, but it would do to get him back to the Gravity Chamber.

Dignity mostly restored, he sagged. “I can only apologise.”

Mai folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, deciding coy was the best tactic. “Whatever for?”

“Today, for a start.” Trunks massaged his temples with one hand, knuckles bent backwards with the cringing force. “He’s like having a tornado for a pet.”

“A very charming tornado, in his own way. Please don’t punish him.”

“No. It was my punishment to bear. And I’m still owed one for forcing Gotenks into a corner, I’m sure. Um. I’m sorry.” He made sincere eye contact, deep remorse in his eyes. “I’ve been a real grade-A asshole. Gotenks was right. I was scared of my feelings, scared you’d turn me down and even more scared you wouldn’t until we got involved and you had to back off. But, then I didn’t want to be close to you if it was under a false-pretence of pure friendship so I tried to stop time. Which wasn’t fair.”

“Ask her out, numbnuts!” Goten’s voice echoed down from the fourth floor. 

Trunks winced at the goad. He swallowed and stood tall, his hands behind his back, finding that courage.

“I wouldn’t be so tactless as to proposition you right now. Take as long as you need to forgive me, if you even want to. That said, if you’d like to catch up, a real catch up between us, over a picnic tomorrow evening -”

“I’ll take my time, for the both of us,” she said, “but, I’d love to.” And acting on an impulse Mai would have very much reeled from an hour ago, she hugged him.

He flinched in surprise - just a little - before embracing her for a polite moment and stepping back, a real, relaxed smile on his face. They climbed the stairs together, Mai needing to inspect the lock, she said. He stammered plans in his relief, an earnest ramble about putting aside time to make all the food himself of course, cutting partway to mild-self reproach over having to check the weather first. 

Mai let him run on. She had enough self-absorbed mind chatter of her own, like trying to work out where at such short notice she could buy both a personalised mug and a long-overdue bouquet of sunflowers.


End file.
